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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24783820">Day Three: Eddie y su Abuela</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstdegreefangirl/pseuds/firstdegreefangirl'>firstdegreefangirl</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Eddie Diaz Week 2020 [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>9-1-1 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>But he is, Christopher Diaz is a National Treasure, Eddie Week 2020, Eddie won't admit he's sick, Fluff, Gen, Sickfic, VERY sassy, and Abuela takes care of him, and sassy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:29:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,603</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24783820</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstdegreefangirl/pseuds/firstdegreefangirl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Eddie needs someone to fuss over him. It's a good thing he's got an Abuela.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Eddie Diaz Week 2020 [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1789669</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Day Three: Eddie y su Abuela</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Shortest outline, longest fic. Who's even a little surprised? Shoutout to Eli for a) dealing with my ideas and antics, and b) the Spanish spot check - but I was CLOSE; I'm kinda learning!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The muscles in Eddie’s arm protest as he pushes the truck door open, and his legs barely catch him as he slides out of the truck. He’s not as young as he was when he started with the LAFD – two whole years ago – and the effects of the long shift are catching up with him. He rolls his neck as he walks up Abuela’s driveway, winces at the way the movement makes his head throb. There’s a thin layer of sweat across his face, but he chalks it up to the number of hours he spent wearing a heavy plastic helmet today.</p>
<p>Mercifully, she has the door open before he’s even made it to the porch, so he doesn’t have to get his arm to cooperate enough to knock, or deal with the sound of his knuckles against the door.  </p>
<p>Eddie greets her with a gentle hug and a kiss on the cheek, looking over her shoulder to see Chris sitting on the floor, working to get his sneakers tied. He leans back, careful not to overbalance himself and topple over, which feels like a very real risk tonight. But almost as soon as he’s upright again, his lungs rebel and he starts coughing.</p>
<p>
  <em>Odd, they didn’t run any calls with heavy smoke inhalation today. </em>
</p>
<p>It’s the kind of uncontrollable coughing that threatens to double him over. His chest aches and his eyes water as he tries to suck in enough air to keep breathing. The back of his throat is scratchy, but he can’t stop coughing long enough to swallow and ease the strain. He’s half-crouched, bracing one arm across both knees. The other hand digs into his shoulder as he coughs into his elbow, hoping to squeeze hard enough to stop the coughing fit.  </p>
<p>Eddie is vaguely aware of Christopher peering around Abuela to watch him, eyes wide with concern. Finally, he’s able to get himself back under control, stand up and take a couple of deep breaths.  </p>
<p>He doesn’t get the chance to say anything, though, can’t soothe Christopher’s worry, because Abuela is stepping into his personal space, rolling up onto her toes to cup his face in her hands.  </p>
<p>“Eddito, what’s wrong?” She presses the back of one of her hands against his forehead and he watches her brow furrow. “Do you feel alright?”</p>
<p>“I’m fine, Abuela.” Eddie tries to brush her off, but he’s too exhausted to step back, and her hands feel so cool against his skin. “Just a long shift.”</p>
<p>“No, a long shift would not make you so flushed. You look tired, too. Christopher, mijo, doesn’t he look tired?”</p>
<p>“He looks tired.” Christopher nods solemnly, and Eddie regrets the day that he told his son to always listen to what Abuela says. “Dad, you look tired.”</p>
<p>Eddie grumbles, but even he can tell that the words are incoherent. Still, he’s pretty sure his dissatisfaction is clear, even as Abuela tugs him by the hands into the house. He doesn’t put up any resistance, he’s learned better than to argue with her when she’s got an idea in her mind, and before he knows it, she’s nudging him onto the sofa.</p>
<p>The exhaustion is so strong in his bones that the gentle push drops him to the cushion in a hard flop. He groans as the impact jostles his head, and the new vantage point gives Abuela an opportunity to start prodding at his face again.  </p>
<p>She doesn’t say anything, but the look on her face is chastising enough for Eddie to be thrown back to his childhood days, remembering the way she’d cluck her tongue at him whenever she was disappointed.  It hadn’t happened very often, but it’s still the only thing he can think of as she pats his cheek and turns away, heading for the kitchen and leaving Eddie and Christopher alone on the couch.</p>
<p>“Hey, kiddo. Good day today?” Eddie hears the rasp in his own voice, but holds back a grimace when Christopher starts rambling excitedly about his day. His voice is just this side of too loud, the tone just right to grate on Eddie’s rapidly fraying nerves. But he can’t bring himself to shut Christopher down, ask him to be quiet. It’s parenting, right? Being engaged in his kid’s life even when his brain is trying to crawl out of his ears?  </p>
<p>He thanks the Lord for Abuela, though, when he hears her voice float in from the kitchen.</p>
<p>“Christopher, mijo, come here and help me fix the <em>Caldo de Pollo</em>. Let your father rest; he’s had a long day.”  </p>
<p>“He’s can-cansado?” Chris clambers down from the couch, and Eddie smiles at the pride in Abuela’s voice when she responds.</p>
<p>“Right, muy bien. Muy cansado.”  </p>
<p>He listens to them working in the other room, faintly hears her walking him through how to dice the celery and chop an onion. His eyelids droop closed, too heavy for him to hold them up any longer, and he reaches blindly for the worn-in blanket that he knows is draped across the back of the sofa. It’s not heavy, but the added warmth is welcome when he leans sideways and tucks himself underneath the cozy material as the noises around him fade out.</p>
<p>Eddie isn’t sure how long he’s been asleep, but the next thing he knows, Christopher is shaking him awake.</p>
<p>“Dad! Dad, wake up! We made soup!”</p>
<p>“Shh, gentle, Christopher. We want to wake him up, not scare him to death.”  </p>
<p>But Eddie isn’t scared. He’s too drained for that, hardly able to muster the strength he needs to open his eyes and sit up. There’s a TV tray unfolded in front of him, and a big bowl filled to the brim with soup sitting in the middle.  </p>
<p>Before he can lean forward, though, Abuela’s hand is pressed against his forehead again.</p>
<p>“Still too hot, Eddito,” she tsks at him. “You eat your <em>Caldo</em>, I’ll get some ice chips.”  </p>
<p>There’s nothing he can do but groan and obey his orders.  </p>
<p>Besides, Abuela’s soup is stronger than any drug he’s ever had. The first bite alone is enough to perk him up a little bit, give him enough energy to take another spoonful.  </p>
<p>Chris is sitting next to him, in front of his own tray, with his own bowl of soup.</p>
<p>“This is so good, Dad! I feel better, and I’m not even sick!” He’s slurping from his spoon, but Eddie can’t find it in himself to scold, remind his son to use better manners.  </p>
<p>All he’s up for is emptying his soup bowl, carefully regarding his stomach to make sure he’s not feeling queasy.  </p>
<p>(He’s not, thankfully,  but he does eventually reach a point of diminishing returns on the healing powers of the soup and it starts to drain his energy away again as the warmth of the meal pulls his body back toward sleep.)</p>
<p>Just when he’s accepted that he can’t wait any longer, that if he and Chris don’t go home now, they’ll probably wake up here in the morning, Abuela appears again from the hallway.</p>
<p>“I put fresh sheets on the bed for you, Edmundo. Come on, let’s go, there’s a blanket in the dryer, but you have to go to bed first.”  </p>
<p>Eddie stumbles when he stands up, catches himself on the arm of the sofa and almost trips over the blanket that lands at his feet. But he manages to stay standing, and lets Abuela lead him down the hallway to the spare room. He doesn’t have pajamas here, but it’s not like he’d have the energy to change clothes right now anyway.  </p>
<p>Instead, he drops himself face first onto the mattress, jeans, boots and all, and groans. Abuela pats his shoulder, then the bed shifts as she unlaces his boots and lines them up at the foot of the bed.  </p>
<p>“That’s better, isn’t it?” When Eddie groans, she runs a hand up his back. “Shh, I’ll be right back.”  </p>
<p>Eddie doesn’t move while she’s gone, doesn’t even roll over or turn his head to uncover his nose and mouth. He just breathes his own hot, muffled air and waits. Everything else is too much effort.</p>
<p>The mattress dips again and Abuela is rolling him over carefully, covering him with a blanket just the right amount of warm and fresh with the scent of fabric softener. She squeezes his shoulder, her fingers ice cold even through the fabric of his T-shirt.</p>
<p>“Eesh, you’re cold.” It comes out more mumbled than he’d hoped, but she still laughs.</p>
<p>“No, sweetheart, you are too hot.” But she pulls her fingers away, reaches behind him and fluffs his pillow. When Eddie sighs, she pushes her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp lightly.  </p>
<p>Eddie’s eyes close again and he shifts to burrow himself further under the blankets. It’s possible, he thinks, that there may be to this than exhaustion after a long shift, that he might be coming down with something. But it’s nice to know that he doesn’t have to worry about anything else tonight; Christopher is taken care of, and he’s getting more attention here than he would at even the best hospital.</p>
<p>It’s hard for him to admit that he needs help sometimes, but he never wants to take for granted the way that his Abuela can always see right through him. She always knows when he needs someone to step in and take care of him and Christopher.  </p>
<p>That’s his last coherent thought as sleep pulls him under again: he’s so, so lucky to have Abuela there to look out for him and Christopher, her family.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thoughts? Questions? Comments? Favorite lines? Drop 'em below; I crave external validation and I'm not better than admitting it lol</p></blockquote></div></div>
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